Chapter 91
In silence, he felt time halt, bowing to the rhythm of suffering, as if the world itself yielded to the bitterness filling the space between them.
Outside, the world was no longer bound by the logic it once knew.
The balance of the world had long been disrupted by Ishikarakarta, a being rumored to have shattered the order of space and time and cast it into absolute void.
Everything moved without sequence, without direction, without any barrier between past and present.
Yet today, for Apathy and Shaqar, time felt painfully real.
Each second ticking in the air seemed to stand as a mute witness to the collapse of someone believed to be unbreakable.
In a world that had already lost its shape, Shaqar's crying became the only thing that still felt true, still felt human to the followers of satanism.
Apathy watched him for a long moment, realizing that nothing was more sacred than the tears that fell.
Not because they were weak, but because they had been pretending to be strong for far too long.
"Shaqar, your tears do not signify weakness in the slightest."
"On the contrary, they are undeniable proof that you still have a heart filled with care."
"Believe me, I will never judge you for the honesty within your tears."
Hoooooh!
'As my eyes swept around, I finally realized we had unintentionally stopped in an area where children's snack vendors used to gather.'
'Normally, this place would be filled with sellers of colorful candies and sweet pastries for schoolchildren.'
"Calm down, Captain."
"Do not hesitate to let everything out."
"There are moments when we must allow ourselves to be fragile before we can rise again with greater strength."
"Look outside."
"Beyond your deep sorrow, life continues."
Fiiiih!
"We don't need to rush."
"Let's sit here until your heart feels steadier and ready for the next step."
Apathy inhaled slowly, letting the cold air fill his lungs before finally releasing the words he had initially refused to speak.
His voice was low, almost like a whisper meant only for himself, yet clear enough for Shaqar to hear while he was still bowed in tears.
He gently said that Shaqar's way of thinking was not entirely wrong, that such fear and hesitation were not sins to be judged.
Every satanist had their own way of facing their wounds, and if tears were the only expression left to release regret, then so be it.
Apathy did not want to become a judge in the midst of someone else's inner storm.
He only wanted to ensure that the tears held meaning, that behind the falling droplets there remained a desire to live, to rise from the despair that had long bound them.
He turned slowly, observing the surroundings with eyes that had been empty but now faintly recognized something ironic.
Amid the fading cries and rough breaths, a familiar sweetness lingered in the air—a blend of sugar, cooking oil, and lightly burnt bread drifting on the wind.
Apathy had only just realized that their vehicle had stopped in a place once filled with children's laughter and the shouts of vendors calling out their goods.
Small tables lined the street, covered with simple cloths, adorned with rows of snacks that once brought smiles to passersby.
Now the place was silent, with only scents and faint shadows left as proof that life once thrived there.
How strange, Apathy thought, that in a world stripped of temporal structure, they ended up stopping at a spot once filled with joy.
He looked at Shaqar again, noting how traces of tears still clung to a face now tired yet calmer.
In his heart, Apathy felt that everything around them conspired to form a contrast—between grief that felt sacred and memories of joy that once were simple.
For a moment, he found it almost humorous, even bittersweet, how they both seemed to forget where they were, as though the entire world had shrunk into a small cabin containing two satanists drowning in their own emotions.
In the lingering silence, Apathy stared at the windshield, watching the dim reflection of half-lit night-market lamps before whispering softly that perhaps, amid the scent of sugar and memories of children's laughter, there might be room for a shattered heart to begin healing.
"We really stopped near the snack vendors? The ones who usually gather by the schools?"
"That is correct, Captain."
Fooooh!
"In that case—"
Tsuuuf!
"C-captain?"
"Apathy, wait here for a moment, alright?"
"Just fifteen minutes. I need to take care of something first."
Buuuk!
"Please don't follow or ask anything."
"Just consider this something personal I must deal with alone."
"Understood, Captain."
Shaqar froze for a moment as he processed Apathy's words, realizing they had stopped in a place once filled with vendors and laughing children.
His awareness pierced through the emotional fog that had wrapped around him earlier.
He looked out the window, tracing the rows of stalls and small tables along the stone path, as though waking from a long dream.
There was a trace of astonishment in his eyes—an honest kind of wonder—because he never expected that in the midst of emotional turmoil, his body and hands had taken him to such a place.
A simple place, almost trivial, yet somehow warm amid the chaos of a world gone astray.
He wiped his face slowly, brushing away the lingering tears on his cheeks, then faster, as if trying to erase the sadness before anyone could see it.
In that motion, something shifted in his expression.
The lines of pain softened, then faded into a rare look of relief, almost like a small laugh held back.
He took a deep breath, gazed once more at the streetlights reflecting off the windshield, then a faint smile curled on his lips.
It wasn't a smile born of happiness, but of acceptance—the kind that acknowledges the absurdity of life.
For some reason, the sight of the stalls and the sweet smell in the air brought a strange warmth into him—perhaps a memory, perhaps a small comfort arriving at the most unexpected moment.
He reached for the door handle, then glanced at Apathy with eyes slightly more alive, far different from the hollow look he had just minutes earlier.
The outside air welcomed him gently, bringing both refreshing coldness and a faint hint of burnt sweetness.
Shaqar stepped out, letting his feet meet the dew-soaked ground.
He looked around with eyes still a little red, yet now filled with curiosity.
The rows of colorful stalls, the tiny lamps swaying in the wind, and the shadows of plastic chairs by the roadside created a strangely calming atmosphere.
In silence, he felt a push—something urging him to act, though he didn't quite understand why.
He turned toward Apathy, his voice raspy with leftover tears, asking his comrade to wait for him.
Just fifteen minutes, he said, with a tone that almost resembled a promise.
"Understood, Captain."
Fuuuh!
'Did the Captain's appetite return after crying? He looks incredibly eager while choosing his food.'
"All right, everything's ready."
"Apathy, let's go."
Apathy simply nodded, saying nothing but releasing a soft breath.
To be continued…